The Eleventh Hour
by Angmar's Elfhild
Summary: In the eleventh hour of the War of Wrath, his last defenses crumbling beneath the might of the Valar, Melkor has a moment of introspection as he waits for the bitter end. Seven sins, and many more, led to his downfall.


**The Seven Deadly Sins of Melkor**

**ENVY**

Stone walls quiver, mountains of iron tremble, Thangorodrim quakes upon its foundations.

Gnawing My fingers, I wait for the end.

Three glistening jewels - My desire, My bane. Powers of earth, sea and air - the light of the Trees - clasped within their radiant purity.

Discontent, filled with lust - how I envied Fëanor! The fruits of his labors were hallowed, while Mine were damned.

The Mightiest spurned by His own kindred, reviled by His Father! Scorn scorched My heart, a silmaril searing My palm.

Iluvatar's beloved ones - do ye envy My defenses, even as ye destroy them?

**WRATH**

Fury slowly rises within Me, cold like the ice atop My domain, hot like flames within its core. Powerless to fight, too proud to flee - I wait for the siege to end.

Once My anger powered Me, the ultimate paroxysm of My power and might. In righteous fury, I struck out at the Lamps and later at the Trees, but both times My plans to remake Arda went awry. My heart pounded with warrior's wrath as I smote the High King; I sizzled in indignation at the mockery of Húrin.

Now I smolder, all My rage to little avail.

**LUST**

I always seek that which I cannot obtain, that which betrays me. Varda, I desired thee to be My spouse, My starry queen, but thou lovest My brother more! Arien, sensual lady of flaming passion, My sword still burns from thy torrid sheath, from the heat of thy embrace! Though thou wouldst kill Me with thy fire, gladly would I ravish thee again!

And little Luthien, sweet enchantress! Bewitched was I by the swaying undulations of thy lissome form, thy hair like raven's wings, thy skin like snow. I wished to claim thee, temptress, to turn thy light to shadow!

**SLOTH**

Why do I linger here in sloth? My dragons tumble from the skies like bitter hail. Thangorodrim has fallen, crushed beneath Ancalagon in his death throes.

I have waited before; then I had hope.

Sitting upon My great throne, lounging upon My couch, I idled My days during the Long Peace, entertained by minstrels of sweet musicks, jugglers of cunning talent, and the sensual charms of dancing girls swaying like cypress in gardens of delight. All during the while, I gathered my strength, My forces ever preparing for war.

Oft was Arda in My grasp; why did I ever delay?

**GLUTTONY**

In feasts I spent My evenings, crushing maidens in the night. Drunken on wine, bloated like Ungoliant, from Mine mouth came thunderous salvos that rocked the very pits of Angband. The Elves thought the rumblings were the forerunner of war; 'twas merely indigestion.

Forgotten, forsaken, alone the prisoners suffered for long years in the deep pits of abysmal dungeons. Sometimes during a feast, I would summon one to be brought forth. 'Twas great sport to taunt them with the table's fare, only to withdraw the morsel at the last moment. The anguish upon their wan faces was an exquisite delight!

**PRIDE**

The Valar have broken through the last defenses! Forsaking pride for fear, I flee, shunning the light like a lowly orc.

Alas! How far I have fallen! Once I was the illustrious King of an empire of iron, Lord of Angband, the realm of horror. Now My stronghold crumbles as though steel and stone were naught but mud!

I should have known when I saw the Silmaril shining from the heavens that it would not be long ere the end; that the hordes would soon follow. But I was secure in My power; surely none would ever defy Me again.

**GREED**

Arda should have been mine! Arda should have been mine! Long have I lusted for her, desiring to take her and change her into My design. It was I who should have ruled her, not the Valar, who made a mockery of her beauty. It was they who marred her, in their petty jealousy and greed.

And now it is I whom they desire. They crossed the Sea to wreak their revenge. Their angry faces shine with fell light; their eyes burn as white-hot coals. My back against the wall, I beg for mercy.

The sharp blades give Me none.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

This series of seven drabbles was written for Open Scrolls Archive's Seven Deadly Sins challenge.

"The Eleventh Hour" is mostly based on the Silmarillion, but certain elements are taken from The Book of Lost Tales. The inspiration for this came from the words spoken between Melkor and Sauron in Blind Guardian's "War of Wrath" on the "Nightfall in Middle-earth" CD.


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